


Meet the Parents

by PhantasmaDormi



Series: Chaos Trio [2]
Category: Mianite - Fandom, Mianite(Minecraft Series), Minecraft - Fandom
Genre: Characters based purely on the youtube series, Dianite is a God, M/M, Mot is a half creeper, OT3, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Polyamory, Rare Pair, Tom is a zombie, Unrevised Older Work, meet the parents au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2019-01-09 12:01:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12276069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhantasmaDormi/pseuds/PhantasmaDormi
Summary: In a strange turn of events, they decide to (awkwardly) introduce everyone to their parents. After all, they were basically their in-laws? Honestly, this could have gone better.





	Meet the Parents

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LostOneHero](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostOneHero/gifts).



> Old work from sometime within the past month.

They hadn't quite planned an awkward reunion for this trip, but they weren't really complaining. Tom, Mot, and Jordan had been sent to Inertia to retrieve something, and to ensure anyone who seldom deserved their entrapment was released. Of course, Dianite decided to tag along, preferring to keep an eye on his partners. (They didn’t mind. In their opinion, it was better to stay together).

But through their viewing of the prison, occasionally letting people free who had been overlooked previously (Andor had been rather adamant about getting any innocent personel released) Tom was starting to get impatient. Jordan had suggested, a while back, that they split to cover more ground, and he went off in search of… whatever they came there for. The zombie didn’t really know, and he would rather be dicking around with Mot and Dia, than… he shuddered. 

It was awful really, seeing the state of some of the prisoners. But most he couldn’t let free. Earlier, he had unwittingly sat through some boring paperwork, each and every file for the people currently kept here. The prison, despite having been infiltrated and attacked by yours truly, was still operating, under the premise that some of the inhabitants deserved to be here. So not only had they been rummaging through pages of descriptions with endless names, and faces that didn’t match anymore, they were being scrutinized by Mianitee guards. Well, those of which knew better than to interfere with them, as they likely had heard of what happened here. (Almost none of them were original guards, the majority of the staff having died in their attack).

Now, he was tentatively peering into cells, trying to keep a neutral face in the wake of the rather… severe injuries many sported. It would appear the Mianitees running this joint weren’t too kind to their convicts. Even to his muted senses, the sheer smell of rot and infection made him want to gag. That was, however, the reason he had been the one sent down this way. This particular area was meant for the people who committed greater crimes, or rather, who the guards enjoyed torturing more. (Andor had been kept here for a while, or so his records said. Tom couldn’t help but wonder why he chose to let this place function still, despite seeing the worst of it).

He was ready to flee the area, when a low groan from on if the cells stopped him. Last he checked, he couldn't see anyone seemingly alive in that cell. A bit reluctantly, he wandered over to it, and did his best to check the inmates number. Scrawled upon the rest of his ratty uniform were the numbers 7249. His eyes widened, as he fished the door keys from his pocket. He remembered very clearly that Mot wanted him released, and the set jaw and hard eyes he said that with made it clear that there would be no argument. The door gave a wail as it scraped open, and Tom threw it back with a grunt. Inside, the man grimaced, peering up at him. 

With a deep croaking voice, he called out, “Did we get new guards already? Didn't know Mianite was too fond of zombies. I'd have imagined someone more armored too, but I guess you all might be a tad under armed nowadays.”

Tom just gave him a snort of derision. 

Waltzing in to heft him up, though the man’s feet were quick to give out, he idly commented, “I'm a Dianitee. Who even gives a shit if Mianite likes me.”

is remark pulled a wheezing laugh from the man, who let himself lean partially on Tom’s shoulder. He opted to practically drag Tom through the halls, reasonable more eager to leave than the zombie.

When they finally hit open air, after a seemingly endless stretch of corridors, the ex-inmate chose to seat himself in the sparse grass surrounding the building. It was there he was given a first hand view of the injuries the man carried. Though the majority of the blood splattered on him seemed older than his wounds, a good deal of cuts were scattered across his skin. A few were still open, and a handful looked infected. As the zombie came closer to get his shirt off, the distinct smell of rot hung off him.

“Stay here,” Tom told him, finally freeing him of the barely passable clothing, “I'm going to go get a clean cloth or something. And medical supplies.” 

With a small pop in his knees, Tom sprang up and hurried back inside. If this man was important to Mot, then he'd best make sure he didn't sit too long, getting more infections. (He seriously hoped it wasn't a case where Mot hated the guy and wanted him to suffer…). He checked in with Jordan, and was directed towards a medical room.

Gathering a rough medkit, a bucket of clean water, and a couple of rags, he carefully made his way back to the man. His companion was carefully leaned back into his arms, soaking in the gentle rays of sunlight as the ball of light raced back towards the horizon. Setting his supplies down beside him, he exchanged a look with the man. 

Dunking a rag into the water and wringing it out, he informed him, “This is about to hurt like a bitch, just gonna warn you.”

Though he received an eye roll at the remark, he heard a sharp hiss as the zombie set to work on cleaning up the old, crusty splotches. This was how they spent the next twenty minutes. The only difficult part was getting the infected paces clean of blood, so that it could be disinfected later. By the time he’d replaced the murky browns with the pinkish red of irritated skin, the water inside the bucket had turned a sickly maroon. 

“Just a suggestion,” the man groan, as the zombie turned his attention to medkit, “ don't ever become a goddamn nurse.” 

Tom grabbed the clean rag from the top of the kit, and opened the box. Inside were standard issue medical supplies, including the tweezers he would need, kindly wrapped in an airtight plastic, and the small bottle of water he had placed inside. Unscrewing the bottle, he rummaged around to find the salt he also stashed inside (that had surprisingly been rather hard to find) and upon finding it, sprinkled some inside and swirled the mixture. 

Finished with his preparations (he was getting a rather skeptical look, but this worked for him for the many years of his existence, so he'd have to deal with it) he turned back to his new friend. 

“Don't worry mate.” Tom gave him a cheeky grin. “That wasn't even the worst part!” 

Taking his left arm in one hand, he carefully dripped some of concoction on a particularly nasty cut. His actions caused the man to let out a cut off yelp, as the initial contact stung. But as Tom cut off the stream, he carefully dabbed the edges, checking for any debris stuck inside the wound. 

They continued in this manner for a few more minutes, before they were joined by another person. As Mot’s eyes adjusted to the natural light, he centered his gaze onto the pair. Tom threw a smile over his shoulder towards the mottled man, but he was ignored. His attention was captured by the man beside the zombie. 

Following Tom’s gaze, the man locked eyes with the half-creeper. His mouth fell open, and he struggled into a more upright position. 

“Mot?” The small utterance sent both into action. Said halfling rushed forward, and he was met part way by the unnamed man pushing up into his feet. The two embraced, the man giving a slight grimace as Mot’s clothes were pressed into a few of his lacerations. Meanwhile, Tom slowly rose, trying not to break the moment.

They broke apart, but the man gently rested a hand upon Mot’s cheek. “You’ve grown so much, just look at you. You look so healthy and cared for, I just wish I could have been there.” 

The mottled man shook his head, swiftly replying, “You did the best you could. Even when you were gone I couldn't have asked for a better dad. A better life? Of course, we all wish for that. But I knew, even in my worst moments, that you did the best you could.” 

Tom stood off to the side during this reunion, idly staring at the medical supplies he had out. He wasn't quite done cleaning his wounds, and there were a number he still needed to bandage. But they were having a moment. It was always a gift to see Mot so purely happy. He wrinkled his nose at the pungent water now contained in the bucket, and opted to refill it with cleaner water while the duo did… whatever you do when catching up with family.

As he reentered the building, headed towards the rather shabby medical wing, he gave a passing nod to Jordan, who was wrapped up in whatever he was doing. When he jerked the door to the med bay open, he was once more greeted with a sharp chemical smell. He went to dump the foul water, rubbing his nose as the liquid poured down the sink.

After cleaning it out a little, and refilling it, he made his way back to the pair outside. Along the way, he was joined by Dia, who gave him a curious look as he hefted the water bucket along beside him. The zombie just shrugged.

Once they made their way out, Dia was quick to lock onto the two already seated in the grass. 

Turning his head partway towards Tom, he queried, “Is that Mot’s father?” The zombie nodded, going back to where he had set up. 

Mot and his dad were still conversing, and neither of the newcomers were about to stop them. While Tom somewhat straightened out his little area, Dianite stared off to the side, his gaze focused on something he paid no mind to.

Tom looked up when he felt the eyes of Mot and his father on him. Upon seeing them staring at him, Mot with that fond look in his eyes and his dad with scrutiny, he righted himself from where he was crouched over the medical supplies. After a good minute Mot’s dad shifted his look to   
Dia, who returned his gaze. Meanwhile the halfling shook his head at the man’s actions. 

With a slow nod, he commented to the half creeper, “You’ve got some fine partners I'd say.” 

The god gave him a small smile at the remark, and Tom turned his away to his his embarrassed flush. The human picked himself up off the ground again, muted pops coming from his knees, despite having already gone through this motion before. With a small stretch, he approached the pair standing off to the side, an eerie smile on his face. 

Placing a firm hand on each of their shoulders, he warmly stated, “If you hurt my son, you’ll feel pain far greater than one’s mind may comprehend.” 

His eyes took a dark look for a split second. “I would know.” 

Releasing the two startled males, he returned to his kinder nature. “I’m sure you boys would love to help Mot catch me up on what’s happened, I wanna know how you all met and got together. It’s always hard to get the third person in without it being awkward.” 

As he lurched back over to his son, Tom and Dia exchanged a slightly startled look.

Shrugging, the god followed the mortal back towards Mot, while Tom regathered his medical supplies. Lugging them over, he plopped down beside the man, laying out his luggage. 

“At least let me finish cleaning you up, mate.” He nodded towards the uncovered injuries. 

“Since you think my nursing skills are shit, I bet you’d rather Mot help you out. Buuuut, you’re still stuck with me.” Said halfling rolled his eyes, gesturing for Dia to start talking while he picked up the cleaner of the rags and Tom retrieved the gauze. 

And though they were still holed up in Inertia, they talked until sunset, in which Jordan wandered out, having not found what he was looking for, but ready to leave anyway. It was with glee that the reunited father and son left the complex, not ready to leave one another again.


End file.
